MAGIC MISSILE!

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[5.69]

Brad Shoup: Pitbull suddenly decides to defend his pop-rap turf and jumps atop his throne of skulls to riff on Steven Tyler and Big Bank Hank and — what the hell — “Surfin’ Bird”. I dunno if this is his Fat Elvis phase or what, but he seems tickled by the lowered stakes. That bullfrog bass may be the best line on a Pitbull track, though.
[7]

Alfred Soto: Shut up.
[1]

Anthony Easton: My love for Pitbull, like my love for The Expendables 3 or Fast & Furious 6, has gone from ironic camp to a genuine appreciation for his ability to craft enjoyable narratives in fairly loose genre definitions. Just as “Timber” was genius in how it kidnapped square dancing, this track’s commitment to pleasure cannot be denied. 
[9]

Rebecca A. Gowns: A song destined for the pantheon of Great Wedding Songs. There they are, inscribed on golden CDs, mounted on pedestals: The Champs’ “Tequila”; Isley Brothers’ “Shout”; Miami Sound Machine’s “Conga”; The B-52s’ “Rock Lobster.” These are the fabled crowdpleasers, suitable for all ages. They have good beats. They involve interactive elements. You can easily imagine a rogue uncle starting a conga line to any of them. They can be bopped to in any way, in any dress, yes, even in heels, even in satin dyed heels. They draw all bodies to the dance floor, no matter the ability. A lone teenager, perhaps someone’s cousin, dismisses the whole affair as “corny.” No sooner are his words spoken than they are drowned out by the shout of a single phrase — like “tequila!” or “fireball!” Cameras flash. These are the photos that will be preserved for generations. These are the memories that will last forever. There is no divorce or heartbreak in this land. For 3-4 sweet minutes, only joy remains.
[9]

Hazel Robinson: I’ll be frank with you, I briefly revised my view on Pitbull after he made a song that had a chorus conveniently adapted to be about Tinder. But I think that was just Ke$ha’s influence, because this reminds me of a hardware/garden chain store advert for barbecues.
[4]

Andy Hutchins: I like my Pitbull songs-as-covert beverage commercials without blatant purloining of legendary flows and with a little more European production, as it turns out. The way Pit purrs “Firrre-balll” is worth points on its own, I suppose.
[3]

Will Adams: The “fire… ball” hook makes no sense unless it turns out to be for a liquor deal. Beyond that, “Fireball” is loads of fun, from the infectious bass ostinato to Pitbull’s bag of vocal tricks. Between the “boogie-oogie-oogie” and the “bebebebebebebe” and the bird calls, Pitbull sounds so at home being dopey that it’s a wonder he’s been wading around EDM’s stagnant waters for this long. Add a “Shout”-evoking breakdown-buildup, and it’s fun for the whole family.
[8]

Dan MacRae: This is the your parents having sloppy vacation sex anthem of 2014.
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Katherine St Asaph: The next morning, Sam Smith watched himself conga on Vine. He learned that many things look and sound harsher in daylight.
[5]

Crystal Leww: “I came, I saw, I conquered / or should I say I saw, I conquered, I came” is a real line from a Pitbull song. Yet this is still mountains more charming than whatever John Ryan contributes. At least it’s funny.
[5]

Patrick St. Michel: WWE professional wrestler Val Venis — the one saddled with a porn star gimmick — once made a joke at a pay-per-view event that went like this: “I came, I saw… I came again.” Pitbull pulls a similar line out on “Fireball,” which would be eye-rolling if it weren’t Pitbull. Like Val Venis, though, all the groanworthy stuff exists alongside decent technical ability (the fact Pitbull can somehow turn this into a vague reinterpretation of “Walk This Way” is impressive) and a really catchy instrumental core.
[6]

Scott Mildenhall: The Generic Turners are mutating! John Martin has cunningly split off into Sam Martin (from David Guetta’s hapless “Lovers On The Sun”) and here, John Ryan. He does his job, but for a man supposedly all *taps-forehead* wise to what sells, Pitbull seems to have such a tin ear. Surely one of the great joys of “Tequila” is the music dropping out, the bloke raising his eyebrow to the camera and dependably going “tequila.” He doesn’t say “fireball.” He doesn’t bring a load of his mates to obnoxiously shout it either. And why is half the tune missing? At least play the rest of it, Pit, because you’ve barely written half of one here.
[4]

Luisa Lopez: The first time I listened to this was almost a week ago and I remembered it being a series of hellish chants in an empty chamber papered with quasi-Latin beats. Revisiting it now, it’s slightly less demonic and almost a little fun. Almost.
[4]